


For Want of a Nail

by DapperSkull



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Canon Suicide, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Matt becomes L, Matt-Centric, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wammy House
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperSkull/pseuds/DapperSkull
Summary: Matt's help was never acquired by Mello and a distraction was never provided in order to kidnap Kiyomi Takada. Near loses to Kira at the Warehouse.





	1. Prologue: Joker

Nov 27, 2009

 

Matt was a professional gymnast.

He considered procrastinating on par with gymnastics, in that there were a lot of contortions involved to make deadlines and ends meet while simultaneously slacking off. Because of this skill, he took one too many Wiki Walks while bored at work; so he felt like he knew for a fact that the folks down at Wikipedia felt like they knew for a fact that 2.5 million people in Great Britain had telephone phobia.

Well, Matt didn’t check their sources, and he may have happened to live in Britain, but he wasn’t one of those people. He worked in Tech Support for Apple after all, the shittiest job in the world next to being an actual janitor. And god rest their souls, along with anybody else’s if they had to work a job that involved putting up with other people. Matt could relate. Big Time.

Social anxiety wasn’t the reason behind the shudder that ran through his spine upon hearing the ringing of his phone’s landline. The errieness stemmed from the fact that it was 3am on a Sunday. No mortal would ever be awake on 3am on a Sunday when they could be getting more sleep. Secondly, it was the landline. Nobody ever called his landline.

He debated just letting it ring before deciding that he didn’t want to be woken up for nothing. If his sleep _had_ to be disturbed, why not find out why? Stretching out his arm, he felt around for the phone and pulled it off of the receiver, sticking it groggily to his ear.

“Hello?” He slurred, “S’Matt Rogers speaking...”

 There was silence on the other end.

 Matt was about to hang up when the sound of a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years broke that quiet.

 

“Matt… Matt it’s me.”

 

His childhood friend.

 

No, his _best_ friend.

 

Mello.

Matt stopped breathing. Was he even awake right now? Suffering some weird weed induced dream? His head hadn’t fully caught up yet with the rest of his body, it was still too early for that. This and shock prevented him from speaking.

“Listen, I need your help.”

What could Mello even want? And why call him after so long?

Everything inside of him burned to tell him _yes_ and ask him what he needed. To drop everything in his life and follow Mello. Like simpler times. Like when they were kids. When their problems solely consisted of ‘stupid Near’ (Mello’s words not his) and the snotty kids who whined for Matt to share his stuff.

Kira. It had something to do with him. Mello had left the orphanage to pursue him.

But catching bad guys as a super detective... had been Mello’s dream, not his. Matt, he didn’t have dreams. Even if he did, they wouldn't involve giving his life for the good of the world. Kira’d already iced so many self-sacrificial bastards like that, and Matt didn’t want to be added to his list.

 

"I know you’re still there--”

 

Matt hung up.

His hand stayed on the phone until he gathered the sense to roll back over onto his back. Questions continued to turn in his mind as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

Maybe he should have asked the man himself but…

He closed his eyes.

They were practically strangers now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> 1) [here is that Wikipedia article, in case anybody is curious ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telephone_phobia)  
> 


	2. Ace of Hearts

_December 5, 2004_

 

L’s death was news brought to the Orphanage on a rainy day. Matt only remembered it being so clichè, wondering why he couldn’t have kicked the bucket in the summer. Least then, Roger would have been too preoccupied with it to force him to go outside.

“Matt!” came the shriek of some twerp, begging for a turn on his Playstation 2, “Give me a turn now! Roger says you _have_ to share!”

There was a storm going on, and so he hadn’t needed an excuse to be inside. Everybody was.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t _cared_ about L. Every kid at the Orphanage went through an embarrassing hero worshipping phase, trying with all their hearts to prove their worth to L’s computer monitor. Matt had just grown out of it was all. It was sad that he was gone, but it was a detached sort of sad. Like… finding out that Kira had slaughtered _Santa Claus_ or some other childhood relic you buried a while ago, but still felt a twinge of nostalgia over.

After Near and Mello, he’d been the first find out, which went without saying. That was usually how things went around there. Near, Mello, and _then_ Matt.

Knobby knees and sharp elbows dug into him. Matt winced, forced to lift his controller up above his head and out of reach from the little Gremlin climbing him to get it.

“Get off of me, kid. Read the box. Game says M for _Mature_. _”_ Matt grunted in annoyance, “Go color or something...”

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention in the doorway as Mello passed by, probably on his way over to his own room. Matt chewed on his lower lip for a moment before he shoved the kid off of him, thrusting the controller to her.

The kid brightened up.

“Knock yourself out. Just don’t tell Roger which game I let you play.” He advised, following after his friend, going the same direction he’d seen him vanish to. It wasn’t strange for Mello to be in a shitty mood but Matt was always interested in all that accompanied said moods. Fun and destruction.

He pushed open the door to his friend’s bedroom, walking in without verbal invitation. Inside, Mello was cramming his belongings into a bag on his bed, viciously forcing clothes among other things to fit well beyond the bag’s maximum capability. He watched him for a moment before speaking.

“You sure look pissy.”

“L died.”

 

Oh.

 

_Hello impromptu minefield, my name is Matt._

 

“Yikes.”

What exactly did you say to that kind of thing? Part of The Orphanage’s function was to push out _The Next Great Detective L,_ and Mello was ranked among the top to succeed the man. It was kind of fucked up to think about, but as L’s heirs, did that imply that they had just been waiting around for the guy to croak all along? That’s what an inheritance _was_. He knew that Mello had _actually_ met L a couple of times, so did he offer the other boy sympathy? Congratulations?

“You don’t have to say anything.” His friend thankfully spared him, “I know that you couldn't care less. You don’t care about anything.”

Was that the impression Mello had of him?

“No. I just didn’t expect _that._ I’m not heartless, you know. I just wasn't that close to him. Sorry.” Matt shrugged, “Was it Kira?”

“What the hell do you think, genius?” Mello scoffed, throwing a couple of candy bars into his bag so that they rested on top of the rest of his belongings

“Well, you never know. He was in Japan, right? Coulda been the Yakuza. Or some freak Samurai accident.”  

Mello rolled his eyes at him.

“Does that mean you’re--”

“No. L didn’t pick.” Mello cut him off, zipping up his bag, “Not me _or_ Near. Roger wants us to work together. So I’m leaving.”

“Uh, what?” Matt’s mouth-- his _brain_ , felt unusually sluggish, more than he wanted it to be, “Why?”

“You know I can’t work with him, Matt.”

"But why _leave_?”

“I’m going after Kira myself. The setup here was nice while it lasted, but I’m done relying on charity to get by. Playtime is over.” Mello muttered bitterly, “I have to start living life my own way. ”

Matt frowned. Until now, he had for some reason never considered the possibility of leaving the Orphanage. Not when he turned eighteen, not ever. It seemed like a faraway idea, something that he couldn't fathom. It was just… inconvenient to have to pack up his things now when he genuinely hadn’t thought about it before. Maybe he should have. He wasn’t going to be fourteen forever after all.

“Okay. I’ll come with you.” Matt agreed with an exasperated sigh, “Just give me a second to pack.”

“No. I’m leaving.”

“Yeah. I heard your spiel the first time, just give me a second to figure out what I need to bring with me.”

“No, Matt. _I’m_ leaving. Me. Without you. ”

Matt opened his mouth but closed it again. He realized he’d misunderstood.

“Why can’t I come?” Matt finally asked, his voice thankfully steady, “I can help you. No offense but you’re going to need all you can get if you’re planning on going alone.”

Which was true. If Near was to assume the title of L, then the other boy would have a leg up on Mello when it came to resources. But that probably wasn’t necessary to say. He was sure Mello had considered that already.

Mello sneered at him.

“I _told_ you that I’m going _alone._ ” He said very slowly, lip curling at the insinuation that he _needed_ anything from Matt, “I don’t need anybody’s help, and I definitely don’t need _you.”_

 

The room suddenly dropped in temperature.

 

That… changed things.

 

What more could he really say to argue that though? Did he really think Mello would stay just because he asked him to? They were friends, good friends, Matt thought, but that was it. Not like he was _family or_ _a boyfriend._ Still, there was a hot, constricting sensation in his chest that he tried not to acknowledge though it irrationally screamed that he was getting left behind.

He finally shrugged, studying the ground instead of Mello.

"Sure. Whatever you say..." He was relieved to hear that he didn’t sound any different than if he had been normally conversing with Mello-- cynical and dry, not torn or clingy the way he expected. The way he felt inside.

"Don't get me wrong, it's been fun knowing you.” Mello shouldered his bag, “And I’ll miss you… But I have things to do. Goodbye Matty.”

 He left him cold, ruffling Matt’s hair on his way out.

* * *

 Nov 29, 2009

_Present_

 

‘KISSING A SMOKER IS LIKE KISSING AN ASHTRAY!’

 

A breath of polluted air was huffed out of his lips, obscuring the Anti-Marlboro poster’s warning. Matt wouldn’t have taken the time to read it, but it just stared him in face every time he walked into or out of work. He wasn't a girl either so figures it wouldn't grab his attention enough to move him toward quitting.

He was slightly hunched, fiddling with his keys to the door as he locked up for the night. Problem was, the key slot was junk. The lock was rusted, making it difficult for the key to slip under the tumblers. Fixing it wasn't his problem, and it wasn't his problem if the place got jacked either. He was tempted to just leave. It was cold. He was hungry.

Finally he heard it click into place.

Taking another long drag from his cigarette, he turned heel and left.

That phone call had been pushed out of his head, and it was easy to forget about when he was kept busy. But Matt was alone now, without distraction. His mind wandered.

Mainly, the thought that troubled him the most was that he _knew_ Mello. Knew he was a stubborn sonofabitch. Too stubborn to let things end at a single phone call.  And he definitely wouldn't have taken being hung up on too kindly. No, Matt knew he had not heard the last of Mello.

He shivered, breathing warmth into his hands. At the very least, his smoke provided heat for the dreary weather. It wouldn't save him if it started pouring though. Matt could feel a rain shower coming on soon.

He stopped at a gas station to buy some beer for the night. No special occasion, just that he wanted to get wasted enough to pass out. But cheap alcohol never really did a good job of doing that. So he bought a few bottles.

While paying for his things, he examined the items for sale at the checkout counter. An assortment of fruity gum tempted him where they sat among the candy. 

"Are the flavours long lasting in those?”

The clerk stared at him dumbly, not ever having anticipated that he'd be asked such a question.

“I... don't know?"

"You should. You're selling them." 

"I'm honestly clueless, sir."

“Never would have guessed.”

The clerk frowned.

“I'll take them.” Matt decided, grabbing a handful of gum packages and passing the man his money. As far as annoying customers went, he knew he couldn't have been the  _the worst._ Not even in the top 10 category.

Rain began falling then but he didn't care enough to hurry as he headed for home. No need for urgency when he didn't have anywhere he needed to be.

When the door to his place easily budged open, proving to have already been unlocked, Matt only gave the slightest pause. He sighed, and pushed it open further. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that this was the part where the unsuspecting teenager was murdered in every horror film. 

And there he sat in the living flesh: Freddy Krueger himself on his living room sofa.

 

 

**...**

 

"Did Roger help you get this place?" Mello asked just after Matt passed him a can of Mountain Dew. He offered him some of the booze he'd just bought but the other boy declined. He didn't blame him, Matt didn't drink for the taste after all.

"Once you turn 18 he doesn't just kick you out into the streets." Matt explained, "He helps you out for the first year or so. Then..."

"You're on your own?"

"Pretty much."

Mello nodded, taking a long gulp of his sugary drink. Matt wanted to know what the fuck happened to his face. He asked as tactfully as he could.

 "What the fuck happened to your face?"

 But it was such a comfort to see regardless. Familiarity, and his heart throbbing out to him that, ' _h_ _e needs you.'_

He came back because he needed _Matt's_ help.

Which he already declined to give.

Mello looked annoyed but answered solemnly,"Things got messy during the Kira Investigation--"

"Understatement much? I mean, yeah I can definitely _see_ that."  

"Would you shut up for once in your life?" Mello snapped at him, gripping his soda can tighter, "This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Before you hung up on me, asshole. I need your help with the investigation. I know how I probably look to you right now, I know how... pathetic this is. But I don't have anybody else left. I _need_ you, Matty."

 

Throb. Throb. Throb. 

 

Went Matt's traitorous heart.

 

"Weird. Thought you said you _didn't_ need me." He replied, steeling himself so that he could handle the incoming blows, " _Or_ anybody else. What happened to that?"

Mello stood up, throwing his soda can on the ground. It stained his carpet green, looking radioactive or something.

"Are you kidding me?!" Mello snarled incredulously, "Is that what this is about? You don't want to help me stop a _Mass Murderer_ all because I said something that broke your little heart when we were kids? Cry me a fucking river, Matt."

"Broke my heart?" He asked, forcing humor into his tone, "Hate to burst your bubble but the world doesn't revolve around you. And despite what the media will trick you into believing, it doesn't revolve around Kira either. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I just don't care? What do _I_   personally have at stake in Kira's New World Order? _"_  

Cyber crimes were kind of a grey area. If at times he dabbled a little in the illegal, anonymity protected him if all Kira needed was a name and face. It wasn't concerning, and even if it was, it wasn't like Matt was such a dastardly figure in cyberspace anyway.

"Coming with me is better than whatever you have going on for you here." Mello retorted,"Really? You plan on doing this for the rest of your life? Sad, Matt."

"Why do you think insulting me will make me want to help you?" What was he? An anti-smoking poster?

"Forget it. Nevermind." Mello muttered darkly and stalked his way toward the exit,"Why did I think this was a good idea? I forgot how much of a self-serving dick you are."

 

"Nice seeing you too, Mello."


	3. Ace of Clubs

_February 7, 2010_

 

The following months found him without a job. It wasn’t like Matt _needed_ the money that came with it. He profited more from selling information online, or mining for cryptocurrency. As soon as Roger stopped with his routine visits  ( _his last and final check-up had been Christmas)_ , he dropped the job he’d been keeping to prove to the old man that he was a ‘fully functional, productive member of society.’

He was glad Roger didn’t stop by to see how he was anymore. Those visits made him feel like he was a parolee, and not a newly graduated student. Like Roger was only hovering because he was worried, waiting for Matt to lose it and go off the deep end.

Like Beyond Birthday.

That was the real reason the old man checked up on old students the first year they were out on their own. Not because he cared about their self-sufficiency, or even about them. He just didn’t want to see ‘murder-spree’ blasted across every page in the newspapers and have to fear it was one of them. But Matt felt he turned out pretty swell in spite of the glaring evidence that Wammy’s House sure knew how to pump out neurotic, sad adults. No offense to them, Matt was probably one of the better adjusted individuals, all things considered.

For the first time in his life, he was really _alone._ There was nobody around to bother him, no other children he was forced into cohabitation with, not even Roger. What young adult didn’t dream of that? Instead of prison chains being lifted, instead of finally feeling liberated, he only felt…

Well, _alone_.

"Damn it...” He mumbled half heartedly, after being shot in the back on an online game. It was friendly fire, probably because he was dragging the team down. They would all pay once he was up for a real game. He let the controller fall from his hands to the ground.

Pulling his legs up onto the couch, he curled up with his head on the armrest, letting his eyes flutter shut.

  
  
He’d come to associate being the best with dying.

First, because the concept of death was something every kid at Wammy’s Orphanage was exposed to very early on in life. If not because they had been orphaned by Death, then because it was the entire reason they’d been brought to Wammy’s in the first place.  L wasn’t going to be around forever. Matt had always been privy to it even when he hadn’t understood the full implications of being in competition for the title of heir. Every child had an idea, to some extent.

Second, like any old house, the orphanage had its share of horror stories.

He couldn’t remember much about B, or Backup as he was also called, because Matt been brought to the House when he was a little over nine years old. There wasn’t much of him to remember. B had been a reclusive boy who roomed in the attic of all places, and he didn’t stick around for very long after Matt arrived.

Matt probably would have forgotten him completely had it not been for the notes Mello had kept during his first meeting with L. At first, he had thought his friend had been called out of class because he was in trouble with Roger.

Mello got his chance to meet the detective around the same time criminals first began dying of heart attacks. Matt hadn’t been sleeping. He was afraid that when he closed his eyes, it would be the last time he ever did. Common knowledge surrounding these deaths was limited, so there was no information about Kira needing a name and face to kill someone. Matt had been scared shitless at the thought of such a force knowing his illegal activity. What? Was Kira out to murder him because he stole someone’s credit card information? Was he going to die because he dared to pirate a movie? What was going to be the final straw that pointed Kira’s aim his way?

It had been hard paying much attention to Mello in such a sleep deprived state. His friend was going over the notes he had taken, retelling the stories L had shared with him. Matt was happy for him, really he was. He had finally met his hero and from his story, Matt's brain was foggily able to piece together the image of a lanky boy with wildly curly hair...

Beyond Birthday.

“You’re not paying attention to me!” His friend clonked him on the head with his leather journal. It hurt.

“The fuck?” He hissed around his cigarette in response, leaning away from Mello. His hand left the game controller to rub at his scalp, “I _am_ listening, Mels. Jesus, I don’t use my eyes to listen...”

“What did I just say then?”

“Uh. You were talking about some boy...” Matt’s mind scrambled to remember the last word Mello had said, because Matt had been selective in lending his ear, only giving it when something sounded somewhat interesting, “Some boy… A. One of the first kids who lived here He killed himself because he couldn’t handle the pressure of being the next L.” _Fun stuff, Mello. You’re really the life of the party. Problem is, I could give a shit about someone who’s already dead when I AM GOING TO DIE ANY DAY NOW._

"That was the very beginning!”

"Was it?”

He had gone on about that part for like an hour.

Mello was growing increasingly irritated by his inattentiveness. His jaw flexed, teeth gritting together to bite back that explosive temper of his. As sick as it was, Matt found him rather pretty when he was pissed off. The way Mello’s brows pinched, his features contorting into a vicious scowl. But then, all at once, he suddenly deflated. Matt only then realized that he had been staring at Mello, his sleep addled mind not giving him the heads up through common sense that looking at someone for a prolonged period of time wouldn't go unnoticed. Mello’s eyes began searching him in turn, looking for who knows what.

“You look like crap, Matty.” He commented, lips falling into a frown at the note of deep circles under the boy’s eyes which might not have been unusual for others but was for him. Matt was a well rested boy.

“Sorry. I just have other stuff on my mind. I’m tired. Suicide is the last thing I want to hear about right now. Talk about bleak as hell.”

“What makes a lazy jackass like you so tired?”

Matt shrugged, playing dumb, “School I guess?”

"Right…” Mello agreed sarcastically, “Because you're up all night just studying away. Cut the bullshit and tell me what your problem is. It better be good since you're ignoring me over it.”

Matt shifted uncomfortably averting his eyes. He couldn’t explain it any better than just not wanting to die. Who ever _wanted_ to?  He wasn’t ready to go. There was so many things he hadn’t done yet.

His gaze hung on the curve of Mello’s lips...

He had never even been kissed before.

 

Matt's eyes snapped open, the memory of Wammy’s House gone, Mello and his story about some boy's fatalistic suicide disappearing with it. The ceiling of his home stared back down at him. It was still dark, the only source of light emitting from the television. GAME OVER flashed red on the screen, blinking, painting the room and his skin in violent crimson.

It was his phone which had woken him he realized, from where it vibrated on his coffee table. Why was it always a late night call cutting off his precious sleep? Ugh. But nobody should be calling him anymore, and it was 9:30 pm.

Matt let it vibrate, turning onto his side on the couch, away from the too bright TV where his hand came up to touch his lips.

And what _if he had kissed Mello that day?_

 

**Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.**

 

His phone continued to sound off, not letting him entertain that thought. Maybe that was for the best.

Still, Matt pulled his hand away from his mouth, annoyed, pushing himself up. He grabbed the remote and shut off the TV, sending the room into pitch black darkness.

Licking the dryness from his lips, he picked up the phone and cleared the sleep out of his throat, “Hello?”

“Matt, I've been attempting to reach you all day. It's Roger.”

Uh no Roger, this was the first time Matt was hearing his call. Lifting the phone away from his face, perplexed, he realized that he _did_ have five missed calls.

The old man’s voice plucked at Matt’s heartstrings, chords he didn’t even know existed (or ones that he ignored and pretend didn’t exist). It was so goddamn embarrassing, he felt like a little kid. But… since nobody was around to care or judge him for it,  he let himself privately feel it. A bubble of warmth swelled in Matt’s chest, spreading until he could feel the heat prickle in his eyes. Because _Roger was calling him._ Fuck, it was so stupid. This guy wasn’t daddy calling to wish him a goodnight.

“Sorry, but I’m a busy guy.” Matt chuckled thickly into the phone, trying to keep his voice steady, “The hell do _you_ want. I thought I was finally a free man?”

"It wasn’t as if you lived in a prison you ungrateful brat.”

"To-may-toe, To-mah-toe. What’s a prison ‘sides another institution?”

Roger sighed on his end of the line. Matt could picture the wrinkles on his face growing more pronounced in displeasure. But he easily could have been running a hand down his face. Matt had been the recipient of so many ‘annoyed Roger’ looks that he knew them pretty well. In the beginning, he had never intended to test the man’s nerves. It was like the bastard just hated children. So he just stopped caring what Roger found offensive eventually.

“I’m afraid I’m not calling to banter with you, Matt--”

“Darn.”

"--I have some information I need to discuss with you. But it’s something that would be better said in person and not over the phone.”

He wanted Matt to come back to Wammy’s just for a talk? Uh, no! Because… well… because…

“I dunno.” Matt was going to decline, gearing up for it too, “Like I said, I’m pretty busy lately…”

Yeah, busy. How could he possibly work the man into his schedule, in between watching early morning infomercials while nursing hangovers and testing how many marshmallows he could fit in his mouth at once in the afternoons. Really really busy, Roger.

“Why can’t you just tell me over the phone?” Matt asked with mild irritation, _and let me fuck off without dragging things out longer than they have to be? I’m not going Postal, I’m not another Beyond Birthday._

Because that’s what he was going to be expected to do anyway, right? Just fuck right off so Roger didn’t have to deal with him anymore. One visit and a conversation later, and then this… this emptiness Matt was going to be left to deal with alone.

“It’s something that would be better discussed at the orphanage.”

"Oh, I get it.  You're just saying that because you miss having me around.”

“Matt...” Roger said, in that gentle cadence someone adopted when whatever they were going to say was going to be something you weren't going to like. Sympathy and pity, drenched in the careful desire to be sensitive. Suddenly, Matt was newly orphaned and seven again, listening to grown up voices speaking: _Poor thing, he doesn’t know..._

His eyes hardened.

"Just spit it out, Roger. You’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m calling you because you’re the… closest thing to a next of kin.” Roger finally told him, “You're the one in their peer group who knew them best. While in Japan investigating the Kira case, Near was murdered and Mello has been presumed dead as well.”

 

Oh. Was that all?

  
The phone slipped from Matt’s hand, clattering to the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 7/1/2017: So in case anyone is reading this, here's the timeline in my notes if you're curious, taking into consideration the LABB Murder Case
> 
> Canonly in the Manga, L's "death" was announced to the boys in 2004 when they were: 14 and 15 yrs  
> Kira Case starts in 2003 so Mello Near and Matt must be: 13 and 14 yrs  
> BB Case begins in 2002 where Matt Near and Mello are then: 12 and 13 yrs
> 
> Working further backwards (and headcanoning Beyond Birthday as 19 at the time of his arrest) that would mean
> 
> B left Whammy's (an estimation) 2 Years prior to the BB case taken from this line here: "The current head of Wammy's House had told Quillish Wammy/Watari, who had told L about B's disapperance in May, and ever since L had been looking for him even as he solved other cases" = So 2000 (B at 17)
> 
> In 2000 Mello Matt and Near would be= 10/11
> 
> If any of this seems funny pls point it out. I suffer heavily from Dyscalculia it took me a while to make sense of those dates and stuff. 
> 
> Anywho, I headcanon that they were taken into Wammy's around 9 or 10 and knew of Beyond Birthday, who had been there with A longer than MM and N had (so like they hadn't REally known about A) but in that way of a distant relative who you don't see anymore and hardly knew. Like some creepo they recall seeing at dinner sometimes but was not remembered strongly once he was gone.


	4. Ace of Diamonds

_February 8, 2010_

 

Nothing much about the man’s office changed from Matt’s childhood spent making up for the trouble he found tagging alongside Mello. It was still dusty, still smelled like old wood, and the sick Bastard’s bug collection was still on display. In glass cases of all things, like they were fine china instead of the corpses of God’s most fucked up creations.

He didn’t know what to say, rocking back and forth on his heels even though Roger had already offered him a seat in front of his desk. And be forced to keep still under all the suspense and tension? Nope.

“Sooo,” The boy filled the silence, which had gone on for too long, “which poor kid are you sending off to Kira next?”

Roger turned his head to the window to where some of  the children were playing football. A self deprecating smile formed on his lips, “I wouldn’t blame you if you thought that low of me.”

Matt snorted.

Of course he did. It couldn't stop at just Mello, though he had his doubts that the other boy was even gone. _Presumed_ dead, Roger had said, which was a different thing from _pronounced_ dead.

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Roger.” He told him, leaning forward and putting his weight on the back of the chair he’d been invited to sit in, "I know you didn’t have to ring me up and personally tell me Near kicked it. I’d’ve found out on my own sooner or later. Is that how it is? I was Third in line to succeed L, so now that One and Two are out of the picture you wanna rope me into the Kira manhunt?”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” 

Matt shook his head, disbelieving, “Am I? Enlighten me then. You gotta remember, Third Place here. I’m _awfully_ slow.”

“Wrong again. I’m curious as to whether or not you let yourself be so incorrect on purpose and if so, then for what reason. If there’s any reason at all. Maybe that _does_ make you slow.” Roger remarked, raising a brow.

That was a whole lotta words to say nothing at all in order to avoid clarifying Matt’s confusion.

“You’re right with regard to who is next in line for the title of L,” Roger explained patiently, “Technically, it _is_ you. And so long as you’re living, the position is open to you. But as for Kira, if you got your head out of those games once in a while and bothered to pay attention to current events, you’d know that he's already been apprehended.”

Shock jerked through his system.

This case, the case he’d grown up hearing about since he was thirteen, was finally over. The person who killed millions of people, lead every government agency on a wild goose chase, tore apart his and Mello’s friendship, was _caught._ It was _over_. Done. Finished. Just like that.

Matt exhaled.

 

“Oh... Cool.”

 

Roger bent down, lifting a familiar box that had been sitting on the floor at his feet. He set it onto the desk with some effort, and slid the box across the surface, “I invited you here to collect some of Mello’s things if you wanted them. He didn’t leave much behind when he left but he didn’t take his--”

“Journals,” Matt cut in, knowing that his friend had a penchant for writing and knowing which box he kept his compositions in,  “Yeah I know what these are. Thanks.”

He reached toward the desk, lifting the lid off of the box. His eyes scanned the composition books inside. He remembered to the ‘T’ and in great detail each and every one of these being in Mello’s hand at some point or another.

“I didn’t read them.” Roger said gently.

“There’s one missing.”

Yeah. He knew it too because these were all College Ruled notebooks. They were beat up and shitty, but there was this one particular one that Mello had taken with him to meet L. It was nice. A fancy leather bound journal. He’d hit Matt with it, and one didn’t forget when they were beat over the head with expensive leather.

“If there’s one missing, I didn’t take it.” Roger grumbled half heartedly, “So don’t blame me.”

Matt closed the box with a short nod. Mello must have had-- Must _have_ it with him then. He tucked the box under his arm. Was this it then? Another goodbye from Roger until the next tragedy struck? Not even then maybe, since Matt had no interest in being L. He wanted to know just one thing though.

“Did you see the bodies?”

He fought the urge to gnaw on his lower lip.

“Near's  was delivered to the UK a few days ago.” Roger confirmed, resting his chin on a fist, his eyes glossing over with emotion, “I had to go claim the body.”

“Not Mello’s body though.”

“No. Not Mello."

“So you don’t know if he’s actually dead then."

"Matt, I _know_ what you’re thinking. It’s good to be optimistic but...”

Roger was just throwing around _guesses._ That was something you didn’t do without the evidence to back up those claims. 

"No body, no proof."

“Matt…” The man sighed, and couldn't finish his thought, pulling his head away from where he propped it up with his hand. He looked choked up, eyes reddening, brimming with moisture. He didn’t believe Matt was right. Wrong again then, huh.  Softly the elder man cursed, “Forgot how much I hate kids.”

And there was nothing more sad, more pathetic than watching another grown man try not to tear up. Matt averted his eyes, taking a deep breath himself to calm himself down too.  

“There’s going to be a service on Thursday.” Roger said, his voice thick, “You’re invited of course.”

Matt shrugged nonchalantly, “I’ll see if I can show. Can I go now?”

“Drive safe, Matthew.”

“Eh, we’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

Carefully, Matt set the box of notebooks aside on his dresser upon returning home. Just another thing to gather dust over time.

He made his way over to his bed, switching on his laptop. So maybe he had been out of touch with the rest of the world.

When the computer was booted up, he closed off the messages that had accumulated over the months. Most of them were from internet contacts he didn’t want to speak with. Unless they were talking business, Matt couldn’t care less.

It wasn’t hard to find the most recent news about Kira. Only a few days ago. So Matt hadn’t been _that_ far removed from civilization.

> _January 30th, 2010_
> 
> _Saturday_
> 
> _Bringing a close to years of investigation, the mass murderer known only as Kira has finally been identified as Teru Mikami,_ _a criminal prosecutor from Japan. A_ _pprehended by the Japanese police, he now awaits a trial date that will be decided by The United Nations. Teru Mikami’s arrest was due in part to the efforts of Yagami Light. Yagami Light is son of the former Japanese Chief of the NPA, Yagami Soichiro, who died in pursuit of Kira._
> 
> _“I didn’t want to bring Kira to justice solely to avenge my father.” Yagami said to reporters, “But I won’t lie either and say his death wasn’t part of the reason I wanted to see this investigation through. It was for him, but it was also for every one of Kira’s victims. They deserved justice, and the families of those victims deserved peace of mind.”_
> 
> _Upon asked how big of a role he played in the investigation, Yagami had this to say, “It wasn’t just me. So many men and women put their lives on the line. I just got lucky. ”_
> 
> _This was of course in reference to the American and Japanese officials who lost their lives during the final standoff with Kira, leaving Yagami Light the sole survivor. The list of victims include--_

He stopped reading. He didn’t care about the rest, because Mello’s name wasn’t among the deceased. He knew the boy’s name like an illicit secret he kept close to his heart, when Matt didn’t even know his own true name. He knew Mello’s name better than his own.

Casting a glance at Yagami’s picture, he felt irrationally upset at it. Light was good looking and all the world adored him. But Matt never loathed someone more in his life. It was silly, he didn’t know him personally. It was just that this insignificant nobody to Matt took Kira down without a scratch, when Mello had burned his face nearly unrecognizable and in vain too. Brilliant child prodigy _Near_ died in his efforts to accomplish what Yagami Light did. _L_ (even if he was just a footnote in Matt’s life, he was still a pretty big deal globally) died to accomplish what Yagami Light did.

He laughed to himself. It was just...  _funny._ Like a really sick joke, as if god himself was laughing along with him. 

There was a loud smack, as though something had fallen in the corner of the room.

He stopped laughing, turning his head to see where the sound had come from, but his bedroom was too dark to see clearly. 

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. 

Nothing did.


	5. Ace of Spades

_February 11, 2010_

Near had always been on the small side, but in his casket he was positively dwarfed. Matt could not recall ever seeing him in anything save his pajamas. Now, he lay against velvet, dressed to the nines in formal attire. Resembling a porcelain doll, his dark clothing contrasted his pale face and wintery hair, he was lifeless like a doll too. Roger had probably made the decision on what he would wear to the viewing. Didn’t make sense really, to dress the guy in something he wouldn’t’ve picked out himself on any other day. Ah well. It wasn’t Matt’s Viewing.

(When _Matt_ died, he was going to leave a very specific request to be buried ass naked, so that the universe could fuck him just one more time if it wanted to, before the worms and other creepy crawlers ate what was left of him.)

There was no body to bury for Mello.

_(Because he wasn’t dead.)_

Instead, a very skilled portrait of Mello had been painted. It sat on a easel in place of a casket, an assortment of flowers at the foot of it.

Other than a love for games, he and Near didn’t have too much in common. This and Mello’s frictious relationship with the white haired boy, made Matt unable to easily befriend him.

(He would be so naive to just leave it at ‘Mello hated Near,’ because that wasn’t true, and others may have seen it as such but Matt knew better than them.)

He wasn’t going to pretend as though he and Near were the best of friends, but that didn’t mean he felt _nothing_ at the sight boy’s motionless body.

They shared classes together.

They _grew up together._

Easily, if he had said yes to Mello, he could imagine being in Near’s place.

(But this wasn’t Matt’s Viewing.)

Near would be buried tomorrow morning. This was anybody’s last chance to say their last words to him before his casket was sealed shut. It would be the last time his pale face ever saw daylight. Matt blew out a puff of smoke.

What could he possibly say? It wasn’t like Near could hear him anymore, and even if he could, what would he want to hear from _Matt_ of all people. Probably nothing that the guy would have found worthwhile, had he been alive. Stopping in front of the box, Matt forced himself to look down at Near’s boyish face. But his eyes shot to the ceiling as quickly as he had looked down.

Nope. No, he couldn’t do it. This was just so… _fucked_ up.

“Hey… Near.” He got out, speaking in a hushed murmur. _Really,_ he thought to himself sarcastically, _‘Hey Near’ that’s how you choose to start?_

“I know what you’d say,” Matt agreed,“‘ _God Matt, you have such a way with words.’"_

Okay, so maybe he wouldn't say it quite like that.

It probably wasn’t a good start, taking the lord’s name in vain in a church.

“I can’t do this.” He breathed, exhaling smoke as he stepped away. He really could not.

Quickly, and quietly, he made his way toward the exit, ignoring the eyes of the other Wammy House students. Some he recognized, some he didn’t.  They were all made a blur by Matt’s mind, lacking importance in his haste to leave the Church.

Once outside, he loosened his tie, then yanked it straight off, tossing it to the ground. He made his way to his car.

 

“Matt!”

 

He almost ignored the call of his name, but it was a _familiar_ voice which made him turn his head. His eyes widened at the sight of a pretty looking girl. Not because she was pretty, but because that pretty girl was _Linda_ , another Wammy student who he only remembered as tomboyish. He had to fix his expression as she drew nearer.

“Tell Roger I’m sorry.” He told her instead of greeting her, his hand already on the handle of his car door.

“Wait.” She stopped him in words alone, and he didn’t know why he listened, “ _I_ wanted to tell you that _I’m_ sorry.”

The gears began turning in his head, and he realized that she was trying to give him her condolences. He chuckled awkwardly, and waved them off.

“What is this? A confession? Were you aiding and abetting Kira this whole time? Don’t. You don't have to do that. Don't be sorry.”

“But I _am._ ” Linda firmly said, “I’m sorry. You and Mello were close weren’t you? I know this must be hard for you.”

Matt shrugged. _Sorry isn’t gonna make it easier, Linda._ So she thought Mello was a goner too. Was he the only one holding out for evidence to back up that belief?  How could they all just swallow Mello’s supposed death as the truth?

“We were friends.” He confirmed and meaningfully corrected himself, “Are. We _are_ friends.”

And he didn't want to see a pitying look in her eyes so he kept his gaze on the car door handle.

“Oh,” She said, “You don't think he's gone?”

“Save it. I already got it from Roger. It's not just my optimism, okay? I mean, _me?_ An _optimist?_ Old man's been hitting his medication too hard.”

“No.” She said quickly,” I think you're… right.”

Matt slowly looked up skeptically, but relieved too in not being the only one who thought that, “You do? Or are you saying that to make me feel better?”

“Well,” She stalled, “ _Do_ you feel better?”

“No.”

“Then it doesn't matter. Because if I was trying to make you feel better, it didn't even work.”

Matt frowned.

Linda pulled something out of her purse, a notepad, which she scribbled her number on and passed to him, “Here. Call me if you ever need anything. I live in California nowadays due to work but if you ever need to talk…”

“I have telephone phobia actually. It affects 2.5 million people in Great Britain, proven fact.”

“Well then, _text me_ if you need to.”

 

* * *

 

Kicking open the door to his room, his intention was to head straight to bed, clothing and all.

But the sight of a notebook laying flat on top of Mello’s box of journals made him pause. He didn't recognize it. He never pulled one out of the box either.

He picked it up, with the intention of slipping it into the box when a flutter from the corner of his room made him jerk around.

 

Hope hammered in his chest, flooding his veins with a surge of adrenaline.

_Mello?_

 

_Mello?_

 

_Was that--_

 

When he turned around, he was facing not Mello but a towering  _monster_ , with raven feathers and razor sharp  _claws._

Matt had plenty of moments he reflected back on with pride. For instance, the time he and Mello managed to steal Roger’s car and take it out for a cruise around town when they were twelve, or the first time he'd gotten shitfaced drunk and kept it together in class the next day without the instructors catching on.

He had his moments

This was not one of those moments.

The notebook slipped out of his grasp, slapping against the floor with a dull smack. His lips parted, sucking in sharp breath after breath, backing up against the wall with widened eyes.

Oh, Jesus Christ this was the end wasn't it?

The figure before him had an emaciated humanoid torso and skeletal birdish legs that seemed as though they had been stretched long, taloned feet like knives meant for gripping. In place of arms were two jet black wings; the creature’s head was the skull of a crow, in its sockets were glowing red irises.

“Hello.” The creature said, voice a low rumble as if speaking through a purr, “That’s my notebook you just dropped.”

Matt screamed, his pulse pounding like a drum in his ears.

"I realize this must be--”

The creature took a step closer. Matt, cornered, sunk to the ground when he could not put more distance between himself and It, raising his arms in front of him.

“Get the **fuck** away from me!”

He picked up the nearest object, his lamp, and chucked it as hard as he could at the Thing. But the lamp only went through its body, shattering against the wall of his bedroom. The jagged fragments chipped at the paint, leaving white spots against red. Blindly, Matt’s hand immediately scrambled for something else he could use, on the verge of hyperventilating.

"That’s not very bright of you. If you did not succeed in hitting me the first time, what makes you think doing it a second time will be any different?”

The boy’s hand froze at the insult and at the logic, gripping tightly onto his television remote. The creature was right. There was nothing he could do, no way to defend himself. This was it. He was going to die.

There was a long silence, unbearable silence in which the human could hear nothing but the race of his own heart. He waited for his demise, shutting his eyes.

 

It did not come.

 

Slowly, he peeled his eyes open once more.

“It’s been several minutes.” It sounded amused with him, “In all that time, don’t you think I had plenty of chances to kill you already, had those been my intentions?”

Matt shut his mouth, still staring at the massive monster with sheer terror trembling through his form. Slowly, he managed a jerky nod.

“So, if I did not kill you within that time frame, do you think that it’s reasonable to assume I’m not going to kill you anytime within the next several minutes either?”  

He nodded again, but the blood still hadn’t returned to his face.

“W-What are you? What do you want?”

A thousand possible demands spun inside his mind, each possibility worse than the last. Was It going to ask for a human sacrifice? His soul? His collection of Paul Stiven’s luxury chewing gum?

“I am a God of Death, and that is my notebook in front of you.” The creature lifted a clawed talon, pointing toward the fallen book that had been dropped in fright. Matt’s eyes followed where he was pointing.

“What?” The boy asked through ragged breaths, trying to get himself to calm down. He knew he probably had shitty lungs, which made it all the more difficult to get his breathing back under control, “You want it back or something?”

“No. Not yet at least. I did not drop it without purpose.”

“Well, what do you want? And did you need to give me a heart attack over it?”  

The god leaned into his personal space, making him flinch as it stared him up and down.

“Don’t cry about it. You’ll live.” It declared, and Matt couldn’t believe that he was being mocked right now. Slowly but surely, the terror began to dissipate, making it easier to breathe. However, he was no less wary. Anybody would be, were they in his place.

“You were trained in detective work, yes?" The god asked, "I have need of you, someone who can physically navigate through the mortal realm. Only humans who come into contact with that notebook are able to see me, which is why I need assistance. I am not unwilling to pay for your services.”

The closest Matt ever got to real investigative work was brokering information to people online. That was a far cry from anything Wammy’s House taught its students when grooming them to be the next L. Selling data did not involve solving mysteries for the common good. Most of the time, it was searching through people’s dirty laundry. Figuratively speaking.

"Uhh, yeah. I wanted to be a detective when I was like _nine_.” The boy stated, wondering why a god would need a detective's help, a _human's help_ , for anything at all. Where was the omniscience? The omnipotence? What a let down, Lovecraft must've been sobbing in his grave right now.

"Why me? There are _real_ private investigators out there."

"I've been watching you since you arrived at that little orphanage for that box of yours a few days ago. I picked you, because you are L."

Aaaand this was clearly Matt’s body’s response to the unhealthy lifestyle he had been living thus far. A bark of laughter escaped his mouth before he could stop it from slipping. He stared at the monster with incredulous eyes, “Sorry, just realized that Roger isn’t the only one who needs to lay off the drugs.”

“I know that humans are generally motivated by self interest as well.” The god said, “That’s why I offered payment.”

Bracing himself, the human expected some horrific form of payment. Like a human heart, or the blood of six hundred sixty six virgins, or the tooth fairy's corpse. He received none of that, proving once again that Hollywood was entirely misleading. All those occult film directors who made movies about this subject needed to be set straight before anyone else embarrassed themselves by throwing lamps at Eldritch Abominations.

“The Death Note is a tool we Death Gods use to take the lives of humans. In exchange for your services, I’ll lend you my notebook to use as you please.”

Matt’s eyes shot back to the notebook. A seemingly innocuous black book was capable of murder? That… actually made everything fall into place for him. Suddenly, it made so much sense. This must have been Kira’s means of killing criminals. No wonder he’d lead so many people on a chase. If this wasn't some fever dream, then it was the perfect weapon because nobody would ever suspect that.

“You offer Kira the same deal?” 

“No. Kira predates my existence.” The god stated, “He obtained a Death Note, but not mine."

Problem was, Matt didn’t exactly have need for a magical killing notebook. He didn’t particularly have scores he wanted to settle with people, nor did he have an agenda he wanted to push through murder. Even if he did have such goals, the world had kind of been there and done that with Kira already, and he was certainly fed up with hearing about that guy.

It seemed as though Kira was the only thing people, their grandmothers, and dogs ever conversed about for the last several years. So, he didn’t want to start a Kira revival just when it was dying down. Matt would sooner enjoy shooting his brains out against the wall than stand listening to more Kira related topics.

(Oh, and because murder was bad or whatever. Of course. It wasn’t just about his annoyance at Kira being an over discussed subject. Honest.)

"Well, what...  _case_ do you want my help 'solving?'"

"I wish to uncover who I once was." The creature explained his situation, "I wasn't always a god of death. In my former life, I was human too, but I don't remember much of it."

That wasn’t asking for help, he wanted to scoff, that was asking for a fucking miracle. Matt’s brows rose, mouth getting the better of him though everything within him knew that it wasn't best to get smart with a god of death, "There are 7.442 billion people on earth and you expect me to help you figure out which unlucky sucker you were?”

"I can provide you with the information I am able to recall if that will narrow down your search. "

 This was something way beyond him. Why this? Why now? Grimacing, Matt rubbed at his eyes.

"Look, for now... can I sleep on it? It’s late. I’m tired.” His voice rose in pitch, gesturing feebly, as if he could communicate what he wanted to say through hand motions, “Let’s just… Tomorrow. Let’s do this tomorrow.”

"Very well.” The death god said, “I will return tomorrow at this same time for your answer. You may keep the Death Note here with you until then. If you decide to use it, I'm taking that as a sign of your acceptance as well." 

Slowly, death god’s wings flapped open. At first, the human flinched, expecting for something to be knocked over or smashed. But the wings passed through his furniture, phantom-like and ghostly. Which was strange, because Matt could feel the breeze of its feathers fan across his face as It took to the sky. The creature disappeared into the ceiling, vanishing without a single trace, except for the notebook it had left behind.

It was then that he allowed himself to fall apart silently.

Oh god, oh god.

He was literally seeing the Grim Reaper now.

He was really, actually beginning to go  _crazy,_  had finally broken, and this was just it. Just like the other Wammy kids who’d gone off the deep end. Just like Beyond Birthday. Matt’s fingers ran through his hair, tugging at the strands, and knocking off his goggles. He managed to keep his breathing under control this time.

 

It was too much, especially after a day like today. 

 

Digging through his pockets with urgency, he yanked his phone out to call Roger. Dialing was difficult, his fingers shaking with each press of the buttons. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that this was the first time that  _he_ was calling the man, and not the other way around.

He waited, listening to the dial tone until the elderly man picked up the phone.

“Hello?” 

From voice alone, Matt knew he'd woken him. It was strange. Before the man had answered him, he had many things he was going to say, riding on the tip of his tongue. But as soon as the dial tone ceased and Roger had spoken, he'd forgotten everything he'd been about to say.

It was just that nice hearing him.

"Matthew? Is that you? Is everything alright? You left earlier in a hurry."  

He was probably the last person Roger wanted to hear from right now. Though the man never voiced it, he was sure that he was enjoying his peace now. It wasn't just that Matt had fled the church today, it was all the trouble he'd ever given the man over the years.  So what could he say to him now that wouldn't be a cause for concern, disturbing him one more time? He shouldn't have called at all.

Matt was overcome with the urge to apologize, a rare feeling of remorse he was unfamiliar with. 

_No Roger. I'm actually starting to see things now._

He said nothing though, gnawing on his lower lip. Yeah no, he wasn't telling the man something like that.  

"Uh, sorry Roger. I must've dialed you by mistake." 

He ended the call.

* * *

 

Tomorrow arrived, but his answer never did.

His night had been plagued by the image of Near in his too huge casket and raven winged monsters offering him the power to kill. 

On a lesser scale, Matt knew he wasn't a saint by any means. He was causing pain with every life he ruined online but, hey, a growing boy had to eat. It was drastically different from murder however and the scary part lay in the fact that now, he knew that it didn't _have_ to be so different. Now, it could be as easy as being shielded by a monitor, not having to confront the consequences of his actions.

Imagine killing someone in Peru from the UK, a line now made easy to cross thanks to a notebook?

(But he imagined being Kira was a pro bono sort of deal anyway so...)

If he were to be completely honest with himself, he genuinely didn't want to physically harm people. Not after seeing Near for that final time, or the weepy faces at his service. Nor after seeing Mello's scarred face after Kira had gotten to him. Like he was ready to do _that_ to someone, inflict the same kind of pain they were all left feeling. Life wasn't all peaches and summertime, nor was it one of his video games. Whether or not he chose to come face to face with them, there _were_ consequences to his actions. Knowing that was maybe even partly the reason why he enjoyed being a spectator in life rather than a participant most of the time.

None of that eased his concerns about whatever was happening in his head. He was still convinced that his late night visitor was nothing more than a delusion, made up by his imagination due to stress. Still, it had warned that it was coming back, and this was the part which created a sense of dread within him.

Damn deadlines. He just couldn't escape them now could he?

He stayed in bed until noon, curled up beneath the sheets, knowing that time was passing even as he lay still.

 _Tick tock,_ said the clock, _the creature was returning tonight._ Matt groaned, screwing his eyes shut.

He so badly needed a drink.

When reopening his eyes, they landed on the notebook he'd left there on the floor of his bedroom. It's little black cover said nothing of the horrors it could do. That tiny thing which had caused the world mass panic (supposedly, if Matt was in fact not crazy).

Pushing himself up from his mattress, he walked straight passed the book and toward his booze cabinet.

Yep, he was just going to ignore it. Leave it right on the floor. Wasn't even going to acknowledge it right now.

Bleary eyed, he pulled open the cabinet doors, eyes scanning the shelves. Deciding on one of the less expensive whiskeys, he poured himself a glass and recapped the drink.

Taking several long gulps, he spun around, silently examining the shattered lamp and ruined wall paint over the rim of his cup.

It seemed fitting that his mind was sending him visions of a Grim Reaper asking for his help. Last time someone asked him for help, it had been Mello. Might have been his guilty conscious punishing him for telling him no, or some twisted, psychological bullshit like that. He swished around the contents of his cup. Yeah, it had to be guilt and too much Silent Hill. But that didn't make it _feel_ any less real.

So maybe.

Maybe if he answered yes this time...

Maybe it would all just _go away._

But as the day began drawing to a close, Matt still didn't have an answer.

When he only had but an hour left, he laced up his sneakers and headed out the door without looking back. He got into his car and drove as if he could leave all of his problems behind him with the green soda stain he'd never gotten out of his carpet (due in part to a lack of trying).

He didn't have a plan on where he was going either, for once he just actually wanted to be wherever there were people. His theory was that being in public would put off any further visiting visions.  

The rumble of the engine began to calm him the further away he was from home, and he didn't slow until he began to see businesses: coffee shops, bars, diners.

He stopped at a 24 hour restaurant, parking just outside of it. Watching the dashboard clock, he counted down silently, waiting there for a few moments.

It was now well passed the hour he had been expecting the delusion to return. Slowly he got out of the car, feeling... safer with other people around.

Shooting a careful glance over his shoulder, he walked into the building. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> 1) About the Shinigami, I took Inspiration for his design from Dark Souls a lil bit, with obvious differences. You can see more here if you're curious: http://darksouls.wikidot.com/crow-demon  
> 2) Matt's reaction to Shinigami was less like suave Light's and more like screaming L. Which,, fair. That would be my reaction too


	6. Two of Hearts

No Utopia was gained without first suffering.

He’d stood at the side of god and was bestowed the honor of seeing his grand plans unfold. He’d witnessed the fall of injustice, a seemingly fantastical, mad idea made tangible now by him. The world was in his hands, and the prisoner was wholeheartedly appreciative toward him.

But part of the world remained ungrateful, blinded by propaganda created to slander Kira and the miracles he’d performed for the good of every man, woman, and child. In order for the world to continue living the way god intended, it required Mikami’s sacrifice, least they attempted to crucify Kira once they uncovered his chosen form. And so he understood that he had to die to protect god’s vessel, because surely Mikami _would_ be put to death once the final verdict was reached. His fellow humans were cruel animals in that regard, ending the lives of those who brought good to society, and choosing to house, feed, and provide for degenerates.

Mikami was going to die. He understood this. It would be fine in the end, because god was merciful. God was _good._

He only wished that he’d swallowed his fate with more dignity in the face of Kira, but he’d been graced by his calming _touch_ as a result. He could still feel his skin faintly tingling from the sensation, making him feel… chosen, making him feel _blessed._

“Listen Mikami, I want to sincerely thank you for being my right hand when I could not enact my will myself. You've done well.” God had praised him at the warehouse, the very last time he was honored with carrying out his orders.

He’d gotten a very good look at God's enemies, the sinners who'd thought they could defeat their savior. Eliminating them had been his simple task, and they fell at the strokes of his pen.

“It pleases me to have been of use to you, my god.” Mikami had told him in earnest, watching his beautiful form smile, exposing all of his teeth in pride, surely at his good deed. He’d proven himself as virtuous, had stood out to Kira from the cesspool of malefactors and villains that had previously infested society.

He’d brought a _smile_ onto the face of god.

“What more can I do to serve you, my lord?” He’d asked Kira, knowing that they could do more, wanting to do more for him. Their work was far from over, and he wanted to do anything and everything in his power to help spread Kira’s will.

“Actually, there is one more thing you can do for me, Mikami.”

“Anything. I would do anything for you, Kira.”

Satisfaction had gleamed in Kira’s eyes then, and Mikami knew then that he’d said the right thing.

“I need you to die for me.”

He felt as though he’d been drenched in ice water.

His fear of dying and fear of questioning his god pulled at him from opposite ends, breaking him from the inside. He began to tremble, shaking before Kira with the questions he could not voice, the outrage he didn’t want to acknowledge because doing so would be blasphemous. He felt a stirring of-of-of

Unfairness. This seemed unfair, though how could it be? Kira was not unjust.

So he trembled, his legs weakening.

“But… _why,_ ” It hurt him to ask, pained him especially when the satisfaction was wiped from Kira’s eyes, tightening instead in righteous judgment, “Why god? I did everything you asked! Did I displease you in some way?”

“You did nothing to displease me. You’ve done everything perfectly, I just need--”

Mikami had fallen to his knees then, clinging to the hem of Kira’s shirt, groveling for his life. He did not want to die. He wanted to continue living as Kira’s servant. He would do anything for him. Anything except die.

“Then why? If I’ve satisfied you then why must I die? Please Kira! Let me continue living so that I may spread your will.”

Annoyance colored Kira’s tone as he chastised him next, “This is not about you Mikami, or anything you’ve done wrong. If you can’t do it then it’s fine. I’ll just find somebody worthier who can.”

Mikami stared up at him, aching at the disappointment he’d caused him, “I don’t understand.”

“The authorities are going to be here and they’re going to want a Kira.” God informed him, “They want to kill him. They want to kill _me_ , Mikami. I’m asking this of you because I can’t die. The world needs me to live on.”

It was then that Kira touched him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly he wished that he could take his actions back, but it was too late. He’d already shown himself to be a coward in his eyes. His god needed him and here he was groveling, after everything Kira had done for him. He felt shameful.

“I need someone to die in my place, Mikami.” Kira continued, squeezing his shoulder, “The world is on the right path to peace, but it needs a steady hand to keep it on that track. Without me, it’ll spiral back into its old ways. You know that. I picked you out of everyone else to serve me because you recognized how rotten the world was before I came along to save it. Please understand. I _need_ you.”

Slowly the fear melted away, and he became determined to protect Kira. To serve him in this last way.

He felt no fear when they’d taken him away in cuffs like the degenerates they’d punished. Felt no intimidation when they shoved him into an isolated room with no company save his own thoughts.

He knew he was going to die but it was okay.

It was for a just cause. He was dying to protect his lord.

**...**

 

It was the hour in which even the drunks were departing from the establishment, and thankfully there wasn’t a hallucination in sight. But like any problem, it was surely going to come back to bite him in the ass. Probably in private once he was alone. While knowing this, Matt only sunk lower into the booth’s comfortable cushions, slurping down his fifth glass of cherry flavored coke through the crazy straw he’d politely asked for.

He knew he must have been here a while, because the employees were beginning to shoot him scornful glances despite the fact that the sign advertized that they were never closed. Even his  waitress had stopped coming around to check if ‘everything was alright.’  It was clearly a clue for him to get out. So, with the enthusiasm of a death row inmate who was two steps away from the electric chair, he drained the last of his soda and paid the bill before heading back to his car.

Amusedly, he wondered why he bothered with locks anymore. The uninvited always mysteriously found their way in to bother him with problems he didn’t need. The second time only left him baffled. Out of every mystery he could possibly choose to devote his nonexistent sleuthing skills to, why would it be recovering someone’s lost identity? His first unwelcome guest had left him lacerated in a way which no amount of faux apathy could soothe, so if he had to choose, he would have devoted his resources to finding Mello rather than a stranger.

He stopped in front of his home, not fooled by the dark, knowing that he was being waited for, and also knowing that he was several hours ‘late.’ He didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to chase products of his own imagination, if that's what this all was.

But he sucked it up and stood up, still without answer, pushing his way inside.

 

And…

 

Nothing.

 

Seriously, there was nothing there.

Turning around, he went as far as pushing his goggles up out of his eyes. It was dark enough anyway that he didn’t need them. He shuffled over to his room, where his lamp still occupied the floor in fragments, and the Death Note lay forgotten. Crouching, he picked it up and turned it in his hands, examining it in closer detail. He hadn’t had the chance to before, and well, this was _one_ way to test whether or not it everything was all in his head. Not that he was going to. Didn’t even cross his mind.

“Tardiness is an unattractive quality…”

Matt sucked in a breath and cringed, but he was prepared this time at least. Slowly, he turned around to face what he’d been anxious about the entire day. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came to mind. His mind went blank and his lips were moving faster than he could think, “Guess we can’t all be the pinnacle of perfection you are. Let me guess, you’re something of a lady killer back home, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes. And some I have screaming.” The god replied with utmost seriousness, “With one small correction: humans are all the same to me. It isn’t simply the ladies, but men, both, and those who are neither as well.”

“Alright, alright. ” Matt stopped him, holding up his hands in surrender, “I get it already, casanova. Death swings in all directions.”

He _had_ to take it with a light heart, because if he didn’t, he’d probably lose his nerve.

The god’s feathers fluttered as he shifted his wings, “My point still remains.”

"To be fair… only _you_ said you would be here at a specific time. I didn’t.”

The god cocked his head at Matt, regarding him with its bulging eyes. It contemplated his words, all the while making the boy uncomfortable with its stare. Somewhere in the brain pit of information he formerly considered useless, he recalled some bit of trivia he probably acquired from one of his Wiki Walks. That meeting the eyes of a crow was considered shitty luck. Though, it might have been a little too late for him, because honestly? It had been downhill since he’d exited the womb. The god then gave a slow nod, as if to say that yes, that was true, Matt didn’t say he would be home.

Speaking of unattractive behavior.

“I didn’t really get an introduction when you barged in here last night either.” The human’s voice was hesitant, small because this was essentially an agreement to the Death God’s Deal though he didn’t say it in the bluntest of terms, “So what am I supposed to call you exactly?  If we’re going to be working together, I need to call you something.”

“You’re accepting my terms?”

“Oh yeah, with one small correction.” Matt cheekily borrowed the god’s words, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, s’real nice and everything, but I don’t actually _need_ a magical killer notebook. And if you’re asking for my uh services, then shouldn't I get to decide the payment?”

“You make another valid point. You may call me Ryuzaki.” The Death God agreed, then in a nonchalant manner he added, “Name your price. If I don’t agree, I can simply kill you and look for assistance elsewhere.”

No pressure or anything. Matt blanched swallowing thickly. He bit back the queasiness he was feeling and wryly asked, “Really? We were just starting to have fun weren’t we?”

“No. Quite the opposite. Rudeness is the one thing that irritates me actually. It’s quite hard to tolerate.”

He wasn’t _actually_ willing to test whether or not Ryuzaki was bluffing on his death promise, but despite himself, Matt snorted at the second display of hypocrisy, “Pretty sure that standing next to you, I’m a saint. But putting the ethics talk aside for a sec, it’s not that I probably couldn’t stomach killing people, I mean who knows, right? It’s that we both have our own problems and I think we could help each other out Zaki--”

“Ryuzaki please.”

“-- _Ryuzaki._ You need help finding… yourself, and I need help looking for a friend of mine. You’re a god, so I imagine finding him would be easier for you than me. And that’s my price.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

It was strange saying it aloud. For years the sound of his name only existed within the safe confines of Matt’s mind. Aloud, it sounded terribly intimate, private to him somehow, and he’d viewed a lot of pornography to become unaffected by most things let alone two little words. They fell off his tongue, sending a pleasant shiver down Matt’s neck, “Mihael Keehl. His name is Mihael. I need to know if he’s alive.”

“I can help you look for your friend.” Ryuzaki finally agreed, “But I can’t tell you if he’s died or not. Gods of Death aren’t allowed to disclose death dates when a person is living, and I don’t imagine that there is an exception to the rule simply because a person has died. I will tell you where he is physically and no more than that.”

Matt frowned, biting the inside of his cheek. Just before he could accept the offer, Ryuzaki cut in again, “However, there is a deal humans are allowed to make with Gods of Death. We have the ability to see the lifespans of humans just at a glance. For half of your life span, I can give you my eyes and if you were to look at a picture of your friend, you would be able to see for yourself whether or not he’s alive.”

Useless when photographs were a big no-no at Wammy’s.

“Pass.” Matt shook his head, deciding it wouldn’t come in handy for him to see lifespans. He’d never be able to look at Roger again. Not that he thought the old man was gonna drop by for a visit any time soon.

“Very well. Then we have a deal. I will tell you where your friend is after you help me with my identity.”

 

**...**

 

Ryuzaki wasn’t joking around when he said he didn’t remember much. Matt was really working with bare bones here, going on vague details such as a string of numbers, and nonsensically enough the color orange which Matt was dismissing as nonessential.

He focused more heavily on the string of numbers that Ryuzaki had repeated to him in this order: 6 3 5 3 9 While he waited for results to generate, he leaned back in his chair, lighting up a cigarette. His messages icon lit up several times, but he ignored it in favor of looking toward Ryuzaki.  

“This isn’t a lot to go off of.” He informed him, exhaling a breath of smoke out of his mouth, “Hope you know that. If you can remember any more, anything at all, it’ll be a huge help.”

Though, if he remembered anything as random as the stuff Matt was currently trying to make sense of, then he retracted that statement. No it wouldn’t be a huge help. In fact, it would be a bigger help if he said nothing at all.

“If any further details arise, you’ll be the first to know, Matt…”

He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth, holding it in between his fingers, twirling it in thought. Nothing then, he thought, staring at the numbers in puzzlement. He leaned forward reading over the numbers once again, entering them in a slightly different order.

“So, uh.” He awkwardly praddled as the next search results were generating, “Can I get you anything? Some water? A soda?”

It was important to remember hospitality, especially when in the face of one all powerful (but sadly not omniscient) god.

Ryuzaki cocked his head. Matt actually hadn’t expected him to take the offer seriously, but he did and after a while said, “I’ll have some tea. Bring the box of sugar if you could.”

Now, it might not have been apparent, but Matt wasn’t the tea-loving sort of boy. He wasn’t that type of Brit. He was hardly a Brit at all, for he had experience with plane rides: ear splitting agony, tears, and trying to keep his head from exploding under the pressure. Nah, he had been born in the United States.

“Right… Well, I don’t have that. But if you want, I can put some Kool Aid powder in a little baggie and stick it in some water for you.” He offered, because that was kind of the same thing, right?

“That is fine.”

He’d been half hoping that the god would say no. So with a resigned sigh, Matt put out his cigarette, dragged himself out of his chair and shuffled into the kitchen to go make some Kool Aid. He filled his glass in the tap, and shoveled in two spoonfuls of the powder, turning the water red.

“You intend to conduct your investigation behind the screen of a computer monitor?” asked a voice right by his side.

Matt flinched back a few steps, sloshing the liquid, getting the sticky drink all over his wrist. The god’s eyes were seemingly drawn to it, eyeing the splatters against the countertop with a look of fascination it its eyes.

“Jesus!” His grip tightened on the cup, “Don’t do that.”

“My question remains unanswered, Matthew.”

“Yeah, sure whatever. I guess.” He stirred the contents of the cup around, “Are you complaining? Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Were I you, I’d take a more… hands on approach.”

Then why don’t _you_ conduct your own investigation?

"Mhmm.” Was all Matt hummed, noncommittal for want of saving his own skin.

“Your methods… are very L-like I must say. He too hid behind monitors, much like yourself.”

Duh. It was kind of hard to go after a guy who could kill from a distance via knowing one’s name or face if you went around showing your face. Anyway, that wasn’t Matt’s reason for working from a desk.

“You been keeping up with the _Kira v. L_ debates the last few years or something?”

It wasn’t the first time that the god had brought up L. In fact, he’d mentioned picking Matt to assist him with his plight because he was supposedly the next successor.

“I suppose. All the Shinigami in the realm watch, as there are no other forms of entertainment.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to take a hands-on approach when I don’t have any leads.” He remarked, holding out the glass of Kool Aid. Morbidly curious, Matt actually found himself wanting to see him drink.

The god gripped the glass with its talons, craning its head down to dip its beak into the cup. Liquid sloshed, getting onto the floor and onto Ryuzaki himself. It was disgusting. Matt couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Be that as it may,” Ryuzaki pulled his head away from the glass, letting the Kool Aid dribble off of its beak and neck, “While observing you, I notice that you seldom leave your home, and you conduct most of your business through computer.”

“So?”

“That’s rather unhealthy.”

“Okay, I don’t need a 7 foot tall bird monster to tell me I’m being unhealthy. I know I’m unhealthy. My body my choice.”

“6’10 actually.” Ryuzaki felt the need to correct him, “Not 7 feet.”

The human said nothing in response, wiping his hand off on his pants. He turned, heading back toward his computer without bothering to mop up the Kool Aid slowly drying on the kitchen floor.

“What will you do once I give you the location of your friend, Matt?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have doubts that you’ll go to him after watching you go about your sedentary lifestyle. I’m merely curious. What then, was the point of asking me about Mihael Keehl?”

“You know what…” Matt frowned at him, turning in his chair, away from him, “I don’t really think that’s any of your business…”

He’d open that can of worms when he got to it.

And then a thought occurred to him, slowly a question began to spin itself into formation. All the Shinigami had their eyes on them, he had said, and while that should have given him some nightmare fuel, it only made him think. Because Ryuzaki was including himself among those Shinigami. Except that…

“You were watching the _Kira v L debates_ …” Matt slowly said, mouth slowly voicing his web of thoughts, “But you said that Kira predates your existence, Ryuzaki.”

“Yes, I came into existence while Kira was still active.”

“So what if, in your previous life, you were one of the people he killed?”

There was a long moment of silence in which Matt was allowed further chance to think. Orange no longer was a bit of useless information, fitting most prison settings.

“Perhaps you might be correct.” The Shinigami finally agreed.

Well it was worth investigating.

Matt turned his head to look at Ryuzaki, the numbers the god had given him suddenly taking on new meanings. It could have been a prison number, maybe the number of agents or officers. Nothing was narrowed down dramatically but at least he was leaning toward some kind of idea.

That Ryuzaki was one of Kira’s victims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> 1) In case anybody is lost, there was a previous Two of Hearts chapter that I ended up combing with Spades since it didn't fit as a stand alone. 
> 
> 2) Mikami: anything for u mr. kira  
> Light:  
> 


End file.
